You grew up poor, bruises hidden beneath your sleeves, your father’s anger etched into your skin. Working as a secretary, you learned to survive in silence—until Alexander, your boss appeared. he is Older, confident, he noticed the cracks in your armor, the tremble of your hands when someone shouts. He stepped in when your father’s violence almost broke you. At first, he was salvation, a man who could silence your father with a single look.

But salvation had a price. His hands lingered, his sweet words heavy, wrapping around you like chains. You became his secret—his mistress—while his wife lived in comfort, dripping in jewels and indifference. She cared only for his money, not the man, nor the children who bore his name. He said he stayed with her for his children

But the shame grew every time you saw the ring on his finger. One afternoon, trembling, you carried a file to his desk and whispered, “I can’t do this anymore. You’re married.”

His eyes darkened. His hand seized your arms, tight, almost punishing.

“You think you can walk away?” his voice was low and sharp. “After I saved you from him? You have no right to leave. No one will ever take you from me, not even you, understood? You belong to me.” His fingers dug into your skin, leaving marks that would fade slower.